


So If This is the Drug, What's the Antidote?

by Books_and_Crows



Category: Teen Wolf Derek/Stiles
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Wolfsbane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Books_and_Crows/pseuds/Books_and_Crows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek knows there's something wrong with his drink, knows not only by the way it tastes, but by Stiles. Stiles, who is walking towards him in a red hoodie, high-top converse, and nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So If This is the Drug, What's the Antidote?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having terrible writer's block on Just Say Yes, so this is in honor of Sterek week.

Derek knows this isn’t real.

He knows because that drink tasted slightly…off.

Not something he could brush aside by some teenager’s naivety to mix drinks properly. No, this tasted strange, like pure adrenaline pumped into liquid form. It was combined with something else too, something that made his thoughts fuzzy and his brain unable to reach any clear understanding of his surroundings.

He knows because no on is looking at Stiles.

All of their backs are turned and no of them even bothers to glance at him. If this was real, they should be gawking. They should be trying to memorize every inch of this image. Derek is.

How could he not? Stiles’ isn’t clothed in anything but that vibrant red hoodie, and black sockless high-top converse. There is something draped around his neck too, but Derek can’t quit make out what it is. His eyes are too focused on Stiles’ hands. They are grazing that bottom zipper. The one that ends irritatingly too long just above the top of his thighs.

His fingers aren’t moving-aren’t unzipping, just teasing the metal that helps conceal what Derek is so anxious to see.

He knows because Stiles is not distracted.

It’s not just his unbroken stare, or the way he moves in a straight path towards Derek-it’s something else. He can tell that Stiles isn’t thinking of anyone else, by his expression. A hint of a smile, dark clouded eyes-calm, determined, and unlike the usual very animated daily Stiles.

He knows because everything is suddenly quiet.

The few people around him are gone. His hiding space in the corner beneath the stairwell is now empty. There is not any background noise either, just the soft pads of Stiles’ approaching footsteps, and Derek’s ragged breathing.

Even when Stiles’ finally arrives he is quiet too. There are no rambles, no sentences with barely any room for breath, no smart-ass remarks. This is not the usual Stiles. He falls wordlessly to his knees. That hoodie rode up and revealed the swell of his bottom.

He cups Derek’s clothed erecting. Cupping and feeling, and then licking the outside of his jeans in one long wet swipe, that leaves Derek harder than ever.

He raises his head, and looks up with this face that Derek can’t even comprehend. His eyebrows scrunched together, eyes crinkled up, and mouth parted-so much _need_ is written all over him, that Derek can’t take it.

He knows because this is one of the things he fears.

He always worried, always was terrified, something like this would happen. Granted, not this exact scenario, but something close. It was the principle idea. Every time he was alone with Stiles, every time Stiles casually touched him, he was afraid their would be a case where he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t back out. Where right and wrong blurred together.

Where Derek forgot what no meant.

With a quick reluctant nod from Derek, Stiles zips down his jeans, and tugs his boxers away as well. His mouth is instantly on his cock, greedy and ready.

He takes as much as he can fit, widening his jaw and tries to swallow the mass he has inside his mouth, tries to fit more until Derek is completely inside. Then when he’s close-not enough but close, Stiles looks up at Derek through eyelashes and urges him on.

The thrusts are short, and not hard. He doesn’t want to hurt Stiles, doesn’t want him to chock, and in this hallucination Stiles takes it fine. He just lets Derek thrust into the tight heat of his mouth.

When Derek pulls out it’s only because he doesn’t know how long this is going to last-and because he doesn’t want it to be over with so soon.

He know because now he is wishing Stiles was speaking.

He doesn’t know why he wants to hear Stiles’ actual voice, his obnoxious voice, but this, this silent seduction is too foreign. It’s like someone else has possessed his body, and it’s not exactly what Derek wanted. If this is his fear, his pervert twisted fear; he wants to hear Stiles’ desperate voice, to the point where words no longer make sense.

“Oh God Derek c’mon.” He’s fallen back on his elbows on the wooden floor. His legs are open, and Derek can see his sack, can see where his erection lifts the fabric. When Derek drops down and unzips the rest, Stiles groans as it rubs over the head.

“Hurry up seriously. Are you into begging or something? Because I am not ready for that insult to my masculinity.”  He says that as Derek is trailing his hands down Stiles’ thighs. As Derek is totally lost in Stiles’ body, totally drunken on the sight of Stiles with his legs apart, knees up in the air, and showing everything- _everything_ to Derek.

“Derek, c’mon wolfy, I’m a hormonal teenager if you’re going make me wait any longer-ah.” Derek finger pushed inside of Stiles’ mouth, then just when wet enough with saliva, he pushes it inside.

He isn’t as tight as Derek expected, isn’t clenched around his finger, he is a little loose. Not like he’s already been fucked, but like someone has been fingering him already. Derek can not even think about the possibility that someone got to his hallucination first, and decides that Stiles clearly had been experimenting with himself before hand.

That, that brief thought, made Derek feel like he was on fire.

“Turn around.” He ordered, his voice was low and rough. Like sandpaper against a surface, it grated against the air.

Stiles’ obeyed with a comment under his breath and flipped over onto his hands and knees. He arched downwards, and lifted his ass higher into the air, so when Derek rose a little he was at a perfect angle.

Stiles’ weight shifted as his right hand was brought backwards into his pocket to fish for something. He pulled out a small travel-sized container of lube and let it fall to the floor, so it rolled towards Derek.

Stiles tried to turn his head around to watch as Derek smeared it all over his cock and swiped the inside of Stiles’ hole, but he kept a hand firmly on the back of his neck. Stiles’ let out a very un-masculine shame-filled whine, “C’mon dude, either fuck me or stop taking so long.”

Derek did, he probably should’ve thought about a condom, but this was a fantasy, and why should it matter? Besides this felt too _good_. Stiles’ insides were all raw and hot. They were tight around him, to the point where Derek had to lay a hand against his back in a subtle order for him to relax.

When he did, it was just enough for Derek to start diving inside. His thrusts were erratic, short and sharp, followed by long and hard. Sometimes he’d just stop and relinquish the feeling of being inside him-even if it was just a hallucination. After a couple of seconds though, Stiles would complain and rock backwards, begging for more, for Derek to speed up again.

“Fuck, holy fuck, I’m so close Derek.” Stiles was trembling underneath him. Small, not defined muscles twitching, and his cock dripping pre-cum all over the floor. “So close, so fucking close, please just a little more, just a little more, just a little harder.”

Derek took all the pleasure in listening to Stiles’ moan and cry out as he found that spot and battered against it, as he kept hitting it until the boy under him was in tears was begging for more.

It was probably the best Derek ever felt.

He knows because no one heard Stiles.

“Oh God, Derek, _yes_!”

They would have to be deaf not to hear Stiles orgasms, or Stiles sounds in general. He was noisy-as Derek had always imagined. He narrated every action with a sound, every move with a response, and his orgasm was a cry so loud it could’ve shook the room.

He tightened around Derek too, squeezed him for all that he was worth, until Derek had to pull out. He came all over Stiles’ back, splotched that red hood with white all the way from the scrunched up bottom hem to the flopped over hood.

As Stiles ever so slowly turned back around, Derek took in the sight of him again. This time though he identified things he wasn’t able to pick up on before.

Like the thread of wolfsbane draped around his neck.

Derek knows this isn’t real.


End file.
